


Coffee Shop Blues

by vivacity (serenlty)



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: (oh my god they were roommates), Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Belial is Sandy’s roommate, Lucifer is a model, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sandy works at a coffee shop, rated t for belial
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2019-05-21 06:48:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14910410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenlty/pseuds/vivacity
Summary: Sandalphon is a college student trying to pay rent by working a job at a coffee shop, which is fine and all, until a stupidly pretty stranger comes into his store with no intentions of leaving anytime soon.(Modern AU!)





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> (vibrates excitedly) i’ve been working on this since wmtsbii and honestly. i am so happy to be starting this!! it’s definitely going to be a bit long but i love lucisan and i hope you will too~

It’ll be a cold day in hell before Sandalphon doesn’t despise the day-to-day customers at the coffee shop he works at. Teenage girls with their irritating laughs and shiny nails, women with too-complicated orders and men who seem to think that they can get out of paying the full price. Yet, a strange passion for coffee itself has Sandalphon keeping his position—that, and the need to pay rent for his college dorm room (because his stupid roommate is always spending his money on things Sandalphon doesn’t dare question.).

That being said, life truly would be easier without the need for this job. His boss, his employer, seems quite confident that Sandalphon can manage a busy shift on his own, and another warm day in the beginning of June sees quite a large number of people stepping into the shop to indulge in air conditioning and chilled drinks. Rolling his shoulders back and wincing a little as an audible cracking sound is heard, Sandalphon gives the back counter another sweep over with a dampened bleach cloth, pushing it into the garbage before turning back around. The large rush of afternoon customers has just died down, giving him a few moments to breathe. Normally he tries to do the work for classes in between managing orders, but the shop is simply too loud today to manage anything involving rational processing.

Just when he thought he was done, the little bell on the entrance door rings, signaling the arrival of another patron. Sandalphon looks up--nearly recoiling as he realizes that the sun is at the perfect angle to strike him in the eyes--and tries to get a read on the new figure. Their face is aimed downwards, hurriedly typing away at a message far too long to be just a text on a dimmed phone screen. However, by the time the stranger has approached the counter, their phone has been pocketed and their face is entirely visible.

They’re certainly not a regular here, as Sandalphon has never seen their face before. What they are, however, is...something. Is it an exaggeration to say that this is the most beautiful human he’s ever seen before? There’s nothing incredibly outstanding young man, who likely can’t be much older than Sandalphon himself, but there’s something about his features (soft and pale hair, knowing eyes that seem to hold the skies in their blue hues), perhaps even his presence that radiates an unusual sense of serenity, perhaps even wisdom.

Luckily, Sandalphon’s on autopilot enough that he’s able to absorb the other’s order without much trouble, but he nearly stumbles over his words as he asks for a name--really, something that should be a simple question. Lucifer, he registers, hands writing that name down and suppressing a laugh. A strange name, isn’t it? 

Just when he’s begun to normalize, the shock of seeing someone so unfairly gorgeous fizzling away into nothing, Sandalphon is facing Lucifer again with a hot drink in his hand. He slides it across the counter, trying not to react when Lucifer’s pretty voice thanks him, one hand reaching out to grab the cup. His fingers are tinged red from the warmth outside, and in the brief moment Sandalphon commits every detail of his hand to memory, from the little scar on the back of his ring finger to the fact that his nails are perfectly shaped, clean, orderly. 

Self-aware, Sandalphon finds himself scratching at one of his own less-than-pristine nails, trying to smooth out a jagged point from where he’d closed his finger in a cupboard door the other day and broken a nail. With Lucifer having turned away, Sandalphon finds his composure more regulated, and certainly hopes he hadn’t looked like a complete idiot in front of the other. It’s not that he’s socially inept, rather, people are just annoying, they let you down, and so Sandalphon finds he tends to stray from social events and therefore interacting with others. 

The beeping of the card reader at the edge of the counter startled him, and Sandalphon turns it around to see what might be wrong. It seems that the last person to pay left their card in the machine—although it’s not any kind of card Sandalphon’s ever seen before. Light blue with black lettering and a pattern of gold and white feathers around the edge, it looks more like a child’s toy credit card than the real thing; but the signature across the bottom doesn’t lie. With a sigh, Sandalphon pulls the card from the leader, exiting from behind the counter. The card belongs to Lucifer, very clearly, and Sandalphon finds him in a sunny corner of the shop with a worn book in one hand. The title has been worn down to the point of being unreadable: clearly, the book is well-loved. 

“Excuse me? I think this is yours.” He holds out the obscenely decorated card with an indifferent face, eyes purposefully averted towards the ground. Making eye contact with such a stranger would be bad, he’s decided. To his relief, the card is taken from Sandalphon’s outstretched hand, along with a quiet expression of gratitude. He nods, avoiding eye contact all while turning around in a fast spin (so fast, in fact, he nearly falls over) and makes his way back behind the fake-granite countertops. 

The little half-door swings closed behind him, and Sandalphon scans the coffee shop once more before allowing himself a moment’s rest. There seems to be no new customers, no one walking in the store, and so he sits rather unceremoniously in a plastic folding chair behind the counter, reaching for an over-sized and over-priced textbook. A coffee shop isn’t the ideal place to do homework when you’re the one making the coffee, but it’s easier to do work when Sandalphon doesn’t have to deal with sickening roomate. 

At the thought of said roommate, in fact, his stomach drops so much that Sandalphon has no choice but to bury his nose in a textbook, scanning through lines of accompanying, messy notes until he finds the page he’s left off on. However, just before he can get any words down on the pages of his notebook—

“Pardon me. Are you busy?” Sandalphon glares up, as if to point out that yes, he clearly is busy, but when he sees a certain stranger’s face again his features almost instantly soften. He wonders if Lucifer is some kind of supernatural being, what with his ability to make the world feel calmer just by looking at him. “I can’t help but notice that you look quite familiar. Have we met before?” Maybe they’re childhood friends or something? That would at least make Sandalphon feel a little better for the amount of effort it’s been taking him not to stare at this guy. 

Knowing that it’s polite to at least stand when being addressed, Sandalphon draws to his feet, standing in front of the counter. He shakes his head no, using the opportunity to look up and down Lucifer to look for any signs of anything particularly extraordinary about him. 

“Perhaps this is a bit forward, but you look quite like a boy who I modeled with during my childhood.” He wasn’t done speaking, apparently, although his words leave Sandalphon with very little to say. Stuck between processing the fact that Lucifer is in fact, a model, and that he also thinks Sandalphon looks like one leave the brunette sputtering for words, jaw dropping, eyes widening, red in the cheeks. He can’t recover from a reaction like that, tragically, and his realization of the stupid look upon his face comes a moment too late—Lucifer has laughed, a small laugh that sounds like soft, late night music that plays in expensive restaurants

“I’m—I was never a model,” Sandalphon quickly insists, arms crossing defensively over his chest. This is quite possibly one of the worst social interactions he’s ever had to struggle through, and working in a coffee shop means he’s had a lot of those already. Lucifer’s small smile becomes a bit apologetic, waving his hand dismissively. 

“Forgive me, then. You certainly could be one, though.”

If Sandalphon’s face turns any more red, it’s going to start looking like a comic, isn’t it? He grits his teeth, still unsure of how to spit out a response to that type of comment—but in the moment that it takes him to refocus on the familiar surroundings, Lucifer is gone, leaving behind only a faint sense of frustration dwelling in Sandalphon’s chest. Of course, it’s stupid to be attracted to strangers, but it’s also stupid for strangers to be so attractive! One loud, dramatic exhale later, Sandalphon shakes his head as if clearing his mind, gives his temples a quick massage, and refocuses in the textbook lying open on the clean countertop. 

By the time his shift ends, Sandalphon is unusually ready to go home. Normally, he takes his time transferring shifts, not entirely ready to go home due to the sheer annoyance that is his roommate. However, the events of the past few hours put him on edge, understandably. That stranger, Lucifer, had disappeared so suddenly that Sandalphon was ready for him to appear at any time. His heightened anxiety seems to be noticeable on the outside, as well, given as one of his coworkers laughs and asks if he’s seen a ghost while tying her apron behind her back. 

If only it was just a ghost. They’re easier to ignore than people. 

The walk back to his shared apartment is a short fifteen minutes, made especially pleasant by the evening June air. The lingering traces of humidity don't feel quite as oppressive as they do during the day, and the day’s transition into night is marked by yellows and greens and deep blues painted across a cloudless sky. Despite the bustle of the crowded area he lives in, the town seems tranquil tonight—even as cars honk and children yell and people wander the ever-so-slightly uneven sidewalks aimlessly. After making it to the complex, home is only a short elevator ride away, up a few floors to room 312. 

“I’m home!” Sandalphon yells into the void of his shared apartment. It serves as a warning rather than a friendly greeting to his roommate, demanding that they have any uninvited guests promptly removed. Luckily, only one pair of shoes sits next to the door, and Sandalphon breathes a sigh of relief. After the day he’s had, he’s not in the mood to deal with any annoying friends, or even worse; the poor fool his roommate’s brought home at 8 o’clock on a Thursday night. 

Perhaps the most inconvenient thing about the apartment is that it was only really ever meant for one person. And so, there’s only one bedroom. When Sandalphon had been looking for a roommate to cover the other half of his rent, he hadn’t even considered that, or the possibility that he’d end up living with one of, if not the most disgusting, overly dramatic and sexual and invasive people he’s ever had the horror of knowing. Ignoring said person, splayed out across their bed with a phone in their hands, Sandalphon flops across his own bed, muffling a frustrated sigh into his pillow.

“Hey, Sandy--ooooh, hard day at work?” Belial’s mocking voice sounds like nails on a metaphorical chalkboard. He doesn’t look away from his phone as he speaks, given that the little sound of typing keys can be heard from where Sandalphon attempts to fuse into his bed. 

“Shut up. You don’t know the half of it.” Sandalphon turns his head to glare at his roommate, head propped up on his elbows with an clearly disgruntled look on his face. “Some stupid guy from a modelling agency was there, and he was trying to recruit me, some nonsense like that…” he pointedly ignores pointing out the attractiveness of said model, knowing that it will only he used against him. 

“A model, hmm?” Belial’s voice growing closer, accompanied by the sudden shift of a mattress under Sandalphon’s legs, lets him know that Belial’s crossed the room to sit on the foot of his bed (completely against the boundary rules Sandalphon has made him swear to follow.). That alone is enough to make Sandalphon tense, fight or flight reaction ready to trigger at any moment, but it’s his next words that shock the other and draw a reaction. “Was he pretty? Did little Sandy wanna--aaahhh!”

Sandalphon doesn’t hesitate to deliver a full-force kick to Belial’s back, one that makes his already horrid sentence cut off into a loud, faked moan. Sandalphon shoves his face back into his pillow, groaning into the fabric and doing everything in his power to block out the gross, loud sounds of Belial’s dramatic breathing. 

“So rough, Sandy~” he calls, one hand coming to rest on the back of Sandalphon’s thigh. Despite feeling disgusted, there’s a bit of pride that accompanies the realization that Belial sounds genuinely winded. “Who’d have thought a little thing like you would like it so rough?” His words are met with another, more forceful kick from Sandalphon, one that forces Belial up with a surprised yelp and far back enough that Sandalphon can sit up. 

“Get your filthy hands off of me. A-and don’t call me Sandy, you vile thing.” As if his pillow has become a shield, Sandalphon clutches it to his chest, in between him and Belial, who’s still wearing that disgusting, flushed face. Ugh, what a freak. 

“Only if you tell me about your handsome visitor,” Belial smiles again, suddenly recovering from Sandalphon’s kick and choosing to fall back into Sandalphon’s bed, completely splayed out. Sandalphon sighs, pushes at the side of Belial’s face with one sock-covered heel, but he knows (they both know) Belial isn’t going anywhere until he gets the details. 

“He’s named Lucifer. It’s weird.”

“Your name is Sandalphon.”

“Shut up. I’m talking.”

An incredibly awkward silence, punctuated by Belial raising a brow at Sandalphon in intrigue before he continues. 

“Anyways, as I was saying. He’s names Lucifer, and he’s a model? Something like that. He asked if I was one as a child, because I looked familiar. Very pretty, very rich.”

“So everything you’re not.”

“I can and will kick you out of my apartment.”

“You can’t pay rent without me.”

Sandalphon wants to scream. Belial is right, of course, he’s infuriatingly right. If he wasn’t right, after all, Sandalphon would have kicked him out eons ago. But no, they’re both just broke college students, and so for the time being he has no choice but to live with this disaster of a human. Instead of snapping back with sarcasm, Sandalphon offers Belial a choice finger before rolling over and falling onto his stomach as aggressively as he can without falling off this tiny bed, just to prove his own displeasure. It seems his point has been received, because the mattress shifts as Belial stands up. 

“Y’know, Sandy,” Belial says, pulling Sandalphon from his trail of distressing thoughts. He gives him a sharp glare, but Belial raises his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I was just gonna tell you that I got takeout. But if you wanna be a little brat instead of eating dinner, be my guest.” 

The moment after Belial leaves, Sandalphon allows himself one infuriated scream into a stack of pillows before collecting himself. How dare Belial call him a brat, or make any comment towards him at all, when all he does is give Sandalphon an excuse to act like one! Well, point taken, but the brunette finds himself falling victim to his own hunger and the tempting smell of takeout sneaking in through his barely-opened bedroom door. With a reluctant and heavy breath, Sandalphon draws himself to his feet, pulling his nearly dead phone from a sweatshirt pocket and plugging it into the wall beside his bed. If he doesn’t hurry, Belial can and will eat all the food he ordered, and so even if it means facing the annoyance once more Sandalphon leaves his room behind and closes the white-painted door with a soft noise.


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh, right. Lucifer is the devil. That would explain the sudden influx of satanic search results.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: i'm going to update soon!  
> me: dies for 11 months after posting one chapter

It’s long past midnight, and yet Sandalphon doesn’t feel an ounce of drowsiness in his body. He stays motionless on his bed, trying to think of all those yoga-meditation videos they make you do in middle school—relax your toes, loosen your ankles, let your knees go slack, get distracted thinking about that stupidly pretty customer—

He wants to scream. He really does. The only thing stopping him is that the next door neighbors might call the cops if they heard a sudden shriek at whatever ungodly hour it currently happens to be. Signing in frustration, Sandalphon stares enviously at the other side of the room where Belial sleeps like a fucking rock, snoring just quietly enough that it doesn’t force Sandalphon to wake him up. He listens to the cadence for a moment, syncing his breathing to the slow noises—in, out, in, out—until his mind wanders yet again. Soft, sky colored eyes paint the back of his eyelids until they can no longer stay closed against the barrage of imagery.

This really is no good. 

Resigned to his fate of a sleepless night, something not entirely unfamiliar to him (or any college student), Sandalphon stands up to quietly retrieve his laptop off his desk. He’s careful not to let the plug or metal prongs clack against the desk or the plastic top of the device as he shuffles across the floor, then settles back in bed with his knees drawn up and the laptop braced on his thighs. 

The laptop turns on with a flash of light so blinding that Sandalphon’s entire vision swims with green and violet spots for a few moments before he furiously and repeatedly slams the brightness down button on the top of the keyboard. His eyes have begun to water from the intensity of the light, and he wipes them clear before typing in his login and plugging headphones into the side of the laptop. Combining the bright light, the clacking of his keys, and the faint hissing the old laptop makes, Sandalphon is almost sure his roommate has woken up.Yet, a glance over reveals that he sleeps like just as much of a rock as he always does.

The browser tab opens up automatically a few moments later, displaying an article Sandalphon had been reading about the effects of climate conditions on the flavor and quality of coffee beans. Having only been halfway done the articles content immediately draws him in, and distracts him for at least a few minutes while he finishes reading. 

Out of words to read, the darkness starts to press in around the corners of his eyes, and Sandalphon sighs and rubs them with the sides of his hands. A new, blank tab is opened, and he clicks on the most visited website that displays itself on the screen, Youtube.

The home page is filled with horror recommendations and Sandalphon immediately suspects that Belial had been using his laptop again without permission. Sandalphon doesn’t watch that stuff, it freaks him out (much to Belial’s amusement) and even the variety of thumbnails displaying mutated humans with grainy red filters is enough to make him uncomfortable. 

(One time, he’d asked Belial, “How do you even watch all of that?”

Without looking up, he’d gotten a response of “Because my dick is big.”

And after that, Sandalphon had sworn off asking unnecessary questions.)

The sound of Belial shuffling around in his sleep is enough to make Sandalphon drop a headphone, closing his laptop halfway and looking over with a paranoid glance. His fingers still rest on the keyboard, and he makes damn sure that Belial isn’t actually awake and messing with him before opening the screen just enough for it to be legible. He stares at the search bar, and before his mind can catch back up to his fingers, they’re typing the word “lucifer” into the search bar. 

Oh, right. Lucifer is the devil. That would explain the sudden influx of satanic search results. 

Sandalphon changes his search query to add the word “model” at the end before hitting enter again. This time, the results are much less satanic, luckily, instead filled with what looks like commercials for various day-to-day companies. Yea, there’s a soda company there, a television network there, and a….yogurt advertisement, of all things. 

It seems like a rather trivial industry to involve someone who is supposedly a large name model in—unless this is some designer yogurt company, the type that appeals to middle-aged white women with too much money to spend on groceries. He clicks the link out of sheer curiosity, and is immediately greeted with a close up of Lucifer’s face. He shoots another glance in Belial’s direction just to be sure, before turning his attention to the advertisement. Curiosity killed the cat, after all, but maybe in this case the cat can be Belial.

There’s a spoon in his mouth...fair enough for a food commercial, Sandalphon decrees, while a “voice of God” talks in the background and Lucifer acts out various, non-verbal responses to whatever the unimportant voice says. Then, the voice asks something that must surprise the character the model plays, as the spoon is quickly removed from his mouth in such haste that a smear of off-white dairy product streaks across the model’s chin. It’s probably an unfortunate coincidence, but it looks a hell of a lot like something else, and well...Sandalphon isn’t sure he like how that makes him feel. 

Before he can process anything else, the model is eating more, and okay, this is definitely a thinly veiled innuendo. No one eats yogurt with that much movement of the mouth, puffing out their cheeks and drawing their lips over the shape of a spoon with such care! It feels dirty to watch such a thing, but of course it can only get worse. Lucifer holds the spoon somewhere off screen, having pulled it from his lips with painstaking slowness, smearing more of the product across his cheek. Then, donning a coy half smile, one eye closes in a wink in response to whatever the voice of God has just said, and—

“Hey, Sandy...what the fuck.” 

Even with headphones on, Belial’s confused and mildly agitated voice is clear as day. Sandalphon jumps enough to nearly fall off his bed, and slams his laptop shut with such force that the finger he almost catches inside surely would have been broken. The light between their bed flickers on, and Sandalphon is caught as a deer in the headlights, the look of embarrassment obvious on his face as he tries to process what the hell was that?

“Was that...a yogurt commercial?”

“I think so.”

“You sure look like it wasn’t.”

“I look perfectly normal, I don’t know what you’re saying.”

“It’s okay, I know you were thinking that spoon in his mouth was something else.”

For the second time that night, Sandalphon reigns in the urge to throttle his insufferable roommate. 

“Why were you watching?”

“He’s a pretty guy, Sandy. Miles out of your league, a shame.” He knows Belial only says these things to get to him, but God, that does not make it any less infuriating. 

“I’m going back to sleep.” The light turns off. “Have fun with your jack-off yogurt commercial. Don’t make too much noise unless you want me getting involved, ‘kay?”

Sandalphon nearly throws his laptop across the room. Could a laptop fracture a human skull, if thrown hard enough? Then again, Belial’s skull is so dense that Sandalphon doubts anything could crack it. A cinderblock, perhaps? If he had the strength to throw it, that is.

As he lies there, lamenting his life, something occurs to Sandalphon. Now, at least, he’s got something he could use to initiate a conversation with Lucifer, about Lucifer. It might actually be one of the worst things to use as a conversations starter considering, how about, common sense (“I saw your yogurt commercial that looks like you’re sucking off a spoon!” doesn’t seem like it’ll fly), but it’s..something? Something.

 

The next day, some strange dreams about anthropomorphic spoons has left Sandalphon rather exhausted both physically and mentally. The alarm clock chirping at 11 am is almost head-splitting, and he smacks with enough force to knock it off his bedside table. The damn thing continues to make noise, and so Sandalphon leans rather ungracefully off the side of his bed, feeling quite the unpleasant headrush as he finally shuts the alarm off.

Friday’s are his favorites. Belial has classes in the morning, and then goes out at nights, often not returning until the next morning or even Sunday, if Sandalphon is lucky. He doesn’t know where he goes, per se, but he also doesn’t really care so long as he can spend a few hours away from that pervasive red gaze. He takes his sweet time making coffee to go with his breakfast (leftover, slightly soggy takeout from three nights ago), measuring out the beans and water with the utmost care.

If it was a viable career option, there’s no doubt that Sandalphon would love to pursue professional coffee making. It just doesn’t seem practical. Not for the amount of care he puts in.

By the time he’s freshly showered and out the door, It’s well after noon. His shift starts at 1:30, so he’ll still probably be early, something Sandalphon both dreads and looks forward to. More minutes in the shop is more money, but it’s also more time surrounded by the catty laughs of teenagers and the annoying buzz of people that seems to get under his skin even more than his pesky roommate.

With just a bit of luck, Sandalphon hopes that the “Lucifer” from yesterday will stop by. Maybe that man really is the devil, and that’s why Sandalphon has the profound inability to banish his face from the depths of his brain. That’s definitely the best explanation as to why Sandalphon can’t think straight--witchcraft, black magic, and definitely not being really, really gay.

Although he knows he’s the latter as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as my senior year draws to a close, i've finally found the energy to get this baby rolling again~  
> hopefully i'll be able to see it through this time, lol  
> rip sandy, killed by anthropomorphic spoons and yogurt commercials
> 
> find me on twitter @dispariaa

**Author's Note:**

> thank u for reading!! school for me ends in about a week so i should be able to update after that. feedback is 110% appreciated on this!  
> find me on twitter @dispariaa


End file.
